


Establishment

by NorthChill



Category: Lost Boys (1987), Lost Boys (Movies), Lost Boys: The Tribe, The Lost Boys (1987)
Genre: AU, F/M, Falling In Love, Fluff, Luna Bay, Nightmares, Non explicit gore, Panic Attacks, Slow Burn, Some silly humour, Vampires
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-28
Updated: 2017-03-28
Packaged: 2018-10-12 07:33:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,566
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10485600
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NorthChill/pseuds/NorthChill
Summary: Luna Bay is not Santa Carla. After years apart, Star and Edgar find home again.





	

**Author's Note:**

> 2009!fic reupload. Edited.

  
_Strange maze_  
_What is this place?_  
_I hear voices over my shoulder_  
_Nothing's making sense at all_

_When I wake up_  
_The dream isn't done_  
_I wanna see your face and know I made it home_  
_If nothing is true_  
_What more can I do?_  
_I am still painting flowers for you_

  
**Painting Flowers - All Time Low**

 

 

 

 

Luna Bay was not Santa Carla.

Santa Carla was dark, seedy, glittering and lively. During the day, the sun would beat down carelessly upon the boardwalk, roasting the underside of her sandals. The sea was a jewelled blue, the sky clear and breeze tempered; beaches forever populated by every kind of tourist.

But the nights were by far the best; swirling with lights, sounds and people, fleeting, hot, sensational, pleasure seeking, magical nights that bound themselves in the garish flourish of her memory. She would smell the distinctive odour of gasoline sneaking its way into her nostrils; feel the throbbing pressure of blazing metal against the soft skin of her thigh. There are times she forgets the fear, the hunger, the need, the pain, and most of all, the blood. She could allow herself to be seduced by the thrill all over again, in shining moments of nostalgia. But the full cost always settled back in; hurtful and unrelenting.

In her mind, it was always the summer of 1987.

Luna Bay was different. The people there were lined, tired, wearied by some invisible weight. They moved and shuffled like large deities of shapeless sound, beneath the grey, cool sunshine. The streets themselves were stark and lifeless; everything was overly bright, as if someone turned the knob too far up on the TV. Even the teenagers all looked the same; each hairstyle reminiscent of another, each pretty or handsome face sculpted by the same worries, the same attitudes, the same cares. The diversity so present in Santa Carla was lost here; frozen in the indifferent stare of a detached youth. Even they looked old before their time; naivety was weakness. No one bothered  to even offer the illusion of love; it all was merely sex.

The sea was far too deep, too green, and too wild for Star. It roared, panted with the ferocity of an angered mythical beast; its foam splashing too high and too long, as if reaching out soapy paws to drag her in to its bottomless depths.

Star sighed, hand clasped tightly around a crumpled piece of tissue, snatched from a coffee stained table at some backwater diner. The address inked on it was barely recognisable; smudged and stained from the cold sweat present on her hands. She had somewhere to go, someone to find. She has a reason.

Star was too nervous to ask anybody. She looked strange, out of place here; her own loved curls no longer the fashion, appearing mussed and lank underneath the dull brightness of Luna Bay. Oh, she still wore her skirts and bangles and odd earrings; but today, she had settled on a loose jumper inherited from the late Lucy, a long, blue skirt and her sandals. The bracelet Sam bought for her nineteenth birthday was hooped sadly around her wrist.

Star forgot how old she is. She hoped she was in her early forties, but over the years, different blood from different people and vampires alike, pushed and gagged down her throat in whispers of vengeance, had taken its toll. She was forced to contend with the hunger once again, the shame, the need, and the want. But somewhere, the feeling became numbed to her senses; overkill, she suspected.

So many years of immortality, mortality and the like had affected her. Only a month ago did she break from her latest captor; she stared into the mirror and classed herself as looking between twenty five and thirty, but she didn’t know, not really. Star's face was ageless, but her eyes were so, so old.

Some nights, she has woken up terrified, all sweat and tears, fearing that in some twisted way, immortality has found her, imprinted its monstrous eternity on her without notice, even though the cursed blood cells in her veins have expired, again and again.

But she was human.

Oh god, she hoped she was/

As the sun moved onto a silent, depressive afternoon, Star found herself standing outside the grubby exterior of a trailer, on a dead looking piece of land. The whole area was surrounded by warning signs, detailing precautions, court orders, fanged posters. Trails of garlic hung from branches like wind chimes, knocking each other in the faint breeze. Crosses of all sizes and shapes dotted the yard like a personal dirt chapel. Star suddenly felt a twist of anticipation in her stomach; only one person could bear to live in a place like this.

It had to be here.

Gingerly, she crossed to the door of the trailer, sharp grit from the uneven earth scraping the soft skin of her toes; all was dark inside. There was no movement, just a horrid stillness; as if the atmosphere itself was awaiting the revelation of something or another. With baited breath, Star knocked once, twice, on the door.

Hardly surprisingly, she was greeted with a stony silence. Star fidgeted, curling stubby nails into the dulled hem of her skirt, eyes casting an apprehensive gaze around the field; a large, beaten old truck sat nearby. The mud wedging its wheels was fresh. There was no implication for him not being at home; it was a Sunday, and the first address for a garage shop entitled "Frog Brother Boarding" had been completely vacant. And this specific boy...no, she was fooling herself, how the years had passed... _man_ wasn't the type to attend afternoon mass.

Star had come too far to give up now. Rising up enough confidence to proceed, she rapped another time, with a sternness that reflected in the sound; shattering that awful silence.

There came a pause.

The front door cracked open, and the suspicious eye of Edgar Frog found its newest target.

.

He didn't believe it was her at first. She looked the same; Star's face was distinctive enough, but her current image hardly worked with her correct age. But Edgar hadn't even been altered by time; he'd grown a few inches, enough that they were eye level, but his face, his clothes, even that ridiculous voice that used to make her giggle, were all the same. His face was somewhat ageless, like hers; only the features had hardened on Edgar's face; his voice had grown naturally deeper, to the layer of a husky growl, and the vague questioning in his eyes that had presented itself at fifteen now deepened into a general, intense distrust. Once he could never give her eye contact before looking down and mumbling, a feat typical for his age and one which had granted her endless amusement. But now his stare was too long, too accusing, so penetrating that now it was Star who was forced to look away, settling on a faded stain on the old, battered love seat.

His trailer was far tidier then she first expected. True, the walls were plastered with "missing" posters-an unwanted drawback to Santa Carla, she observed with a shiver-and every square inch of shelf or storage place was crammed with Edgar's anti-vamp ware, but the carpet had been hovered and the surfaces, like the "table" were spotless. Star paused, beginning to chew her lip nervously, fingers gripping her worn jumper for dear life. She felt suddenly grimy, out of place in that weird little trailer; the heaviness of Edgar's glare tangible to her skin.

"Why are you here?" he inquired gruffly, leaning against the sink, arms braced across his chest defensively. Her attention was suddenly drawn to a pair of dog tags swinging from his neck; catching the light and gleaming innocently. A lump rose in her throat.

"I'm not really sure..."Star's voice broke slightly. “I need...protection." Edgar's eyes instantly narrowed. She felt herself shivering, fatigue and tiredness gnawing at her senses. "I-I have nowhere else to go." A silence hung between them. Edgar was waiting.

"I'll work.” She continued. “I'll do whatever you want; I'm good with numbers..."

Edgar's grunt cut her short.

"Good with numbers?"

Star's head shot up, hope swelling.

Edgar wasn't smiling, but his expression seemed to have softened at the edges.

"Hmm. It would be useful to have someone to mind the store." He moved over to a small envelope that lay tucked out of sight, dollar bills protruding from its side. His voice was brusque. "Let's get you cleaned up."

Star gulped, offering a tearful smile. When Edgar Frog gives you fashion advice, you know you're in trouble.

 

This was definitely surreal.

Star never thought she'd be going shopping with Edgar Frog. Hell, she'd never thought she'd be going shopping in Luna Bay, for that matter; but there were a small assortment of shops around the back streets, stocking cheap clothing like jeans, t-shirts, jumpers, and even more standard fare.

Peering through the bleary windows of Edgar's truck, her eyes caught a bohemian shop, small and scheduled, on the corner. Its window stocked the multiple bangles, the sparkly skirts, the styles she loved. Wistfulness bound up her chest, as Star resisted the urge to shoot a pleading stare in Edgar's direction; his face was turned away, his attention focused on an upcoming hardware store. It had been quiet in the vehicle since they had set off, both Edgar and Star thanking the conversation skills of windows and laps.

To her surprise, the truck halted outside the small shop that so held her heart. Edgar threw his head to the side, raising a finger to address her with a business like air. A thrill of affection coursed through her; this action was so fifteen year old comic book geek, (that she could attach some memory to this stoic transformation) she fought an urge to jump the Frog in an impulsive hug..

"Right. Look lady, I need to gather some more staking supplies..." he gestured to the hardware store, "And you need to get some clothes, like yeah, get your spangly shit you like..." The frank thank you, oh god thank you inscribed on Star’s face made him waver slightly, familiar adolescent awkwardness twitching his mouth. "But I expect you back here in twenty minutes! No girly browsing, OK?"

Star nodded, almost throwing herself out of the truck, to enter the familiar territory she so adored.

.

.

Star, in a now brighter mood, observed her new surroundings. Edgar had a small room in the back of his trailer, which contained a little camp bed and a light. Strangely enough, There were two crosses on the wall, an emergency stake beneath the bed and one on the door, but to Star, for Edgar this was pretty minimalist.

Her new clothes lay on the bed. She had purchased some basic jeans, t-shirts and jumpers in a bid to appease her new bunk mate, who'd noted this with a begrudging nod. But beneath this lurked a few guilty skirts, a couple of sneaky bangles, and a carefully hidden pair of earrings.

Star found herself giggling to herself at such a tiny deception, the first time in about three years she had gathered such easy amusement.

.

.

Living with Edgar was easy fare. There were no recent vampire attacks, so life seemed to progress at a normal pace. Star minded the store, smiling at customers and exercising better interpersonal skills that poor old Edgar ever could. This gave Edgar time to organise his real passion; vampires.

Star would reappear in the evening to find him about to go out on night patrol-decked out in some form of marine attire, an assortment of stakes, crosses, and holy water gracing his belt. She'd stifled a chuckle at the first time she saw; lightness fading to pain as he vanished though the door. The lack of him almost sent Star into a panic attack; upon travels, when the night hit, she wasted the hours away in diners with lukewarm coffee, homeless centres alongside babbling maniacs who offered her gin, in places with people. This was the first night she had been alone; it left her restless with fever.

 Star lingered outside her bedroom door, unable to enter the pressing black that seemed to spill into the dim light of Edgar's kitchen. She finally found a disturbed solace on the faded loveseat, curled up with a threadbare blanket and a cross clasped to her chest with trembling hands.

In Star's dreams, David zipped across the yard in bizarre zigzag patterns, sniffing like a blind dog. He called her name in that smooth tenor of his, but his face had been stitched badly by some deranged surgeon; his mouth, his nose, his chin, had been bound together in ugly, gangly black thread. Only the blue of his eyes remained, shining and clear in the night, advancing toward the tiny window. Paul was calling from her bedroom, whooping and cheering, his tone teasing but his words thick with resent.

How he hated her. **_You sick, traitorous bitch, look what they did to my skin! It's all bubbled, ripped, curling, and falling off...it fucking hurts, you know? And it's your entire damn fault_**...

Marko lurked in the jumbled patchwork of the opposite chair; she could see the colours of his coat clashing with the oak wood. He didn't say anything, just smiled eerily from the material, skin and organs and features forming a grotesque pattern. Dwayne crackled onto the radio, hissing and spluttering into existence; he was spitting out insults, death threats, and warnings for Laddie; she took the boy away from him, his brothers...

Blood bulged from the radio's chunky buttons, pushing itself though the thin, dark netting of the speakers.

Star grimaced, turning away from the ugly scene.

The mangled mirage of David leered at her, skin and thread thickening and contorting with the effort, eyes cruelly shining with the brightness of two new blue buttons.

Star screamed.

A shape shifted in the darkness. It came right at her, strong hands lashing out to grab her flailing arms. Star's cries elevated, before the blackness shifted and David's face floated away to the soft curve of Edgar's nose, his defining jawbone, that voice growling her name, again and again.

"Easy, Lady! Calm down...Star...Star...!"

The trailer was still again. The dark was littered by a vague, hazy moonlight, bathing the room in white twilight. Star's breaths calmed, the sting of unshed tears burning in her eyes. Edgar was still gripping her tightly, eyes agitated and oddly panicked, fingers leaving bold imprints in her arms. She quieted down, the very sight of him grounding her back into reality.

That was until Star felt something warm and sticky trickle onto her bare thigh.

Blood was dripping idly from a deep gash in Edgar's side, leaving behind a large, spreading stain. It was crusted in his hair, and there were shallow, red slashes on his neck, upper chest, and across his left shoulder. He was steady, but his face was growing gradually paler.

"Edgar...?"

"Vampires," he uttered lowly, before collapsing onto his knees.

.

.

.

.

"You're an idiot," whispered Star, resting a cool towel upon the man's head. The injuries were not serious once treated, but had been nasty, without a doubt; talon claws had gouged and ripped and thoroughly enjoyed doing so. Star had forced herself to not peer at his neck. She needed no more worry, thank you very much, as if the past few hours hadn't been stressful enough. Star had spent the time washing, fussing, and cleaning up Edgar, who was acting like a grumpy child; attempting to silence her protests and swatting her interfering bandages, plasters, and mean spirited stinging stuff away.

"I've had worse," he mumbled, stiffening upon the gentle pressure of her touch. Star noted this, fighting back a grin, but it dawned on her with a bittersweet flourish that he was sadly, no longer fifteen.

"How long have you been alone, then?" sniffed Star, unmoved by his machismo survivalist act. This awesome monster basher was now gritting his teeth at the surgical spirit being applied to his left shoulder; the scrape was specifically angry there, blistering and scabbing in the faint light of early morning.

He froze at her question.

Star could have kicked herself; the dog tags, untouched by his earlier encounter, hung accusingly round his bare neck. An odd black tattoo spread itself across his naked chest like a large, long legged spider; slithering up his neck and teasing his jawbone. His muscles were defined, strong, wiry; developed though training and killing and pain. Star also saw, in the limited light, a faint crisscross of scars lining his abdomen. Empathy rose in her like a flickering ember; Edgar had been scarred as well. Edgar had lost, as she had, and the realisation almost killed her, right there and then.

How selfish was she, seeking him out in the need for so-called-protection, offering yet another burden to an already plentiful list.

"Ten years."

Star jumped. "What?"

He tutted, irritated at her short attention span. "I've been alone for ten years."

"Nobody looked after you?" A forgotten memory of two stoned parents came to mind, sprawled next to a flickering, half dying television set.

Edgar shrugged. "I looked after myself."

Something tightened, and then released, in Star's chest.

.

.

.

.

Whoever said Edgar was quiet?

Bullshit.

Yeah sure, he was silent to begin with, but once the guy got comfortable with someone, he would. not. shut. up. Be it vampires, surfers, comics, holy water, being an online minister (though the majority gathered he didn't believe in a God, let alone a "just" one) or some other thing he was prattling on about, when he was in the mood, Edgar would just go on. And on. And on. And on. And on. And on…

And Star loved it.

She was reserved herself, never great at talking, but she enjoyed the dry, rhetorical conversations they shared together. It beat the brooding silences the hunter became immersed in, on lonely nights with only the taunting dog tags for company. Star didn't question his brother's absence; when the so called "twins" had been younger (though Alan had been a year older) their dynamic had been such of unbreakable comrades in arms, tight friends, and devoted brothers. Star only knew whatever occurred between them included vampires, and Edgar Frog hated all the damn vampires.

Star liked Edgar's voice; it was deep and distinctive and weirdly reassuring, despite the potential for mockery that came with it. The majority of their interaction consisted of strange, small snippets of speculation, or discussions of vampires (Star now helped with hunting duty, whether it minding the store, researching sinister circles or even going out with him as a fall back stake on rare occasions) but even they weren't without their little uh, tiffs.

"You better drink the frog juice."

Star pulled a disgusted face at the vile concoction that lay before her. Holy water, fresh garlic, and raw eggs, all whisked with a little cocktail spoon. Lovely.

"Edgar, that stuff is disgusting."

Well, he wasn't having any of that.

"It could save your life." His posture was one of a seasoned, world weary teacher, arms crossed and chin cocked up in pride. Star acknowledged the reasoning that garlic on her breath was hardly going to assist in the not so attractive equation of teeth to neck, and really, it wasn't sticking.

"I don't think..."

"You live with me, you share food with me, and you take the same precautions as me."

Star lifted the glass with delicate fingers, watching with a turning stomach the gloopy, white mess. She wrinkled her nose, balking at the smell.

"You must be a joy to kiss Edgar, after digesting this gunk."

His frown transformed itself into a shrewd grin.

 "Wanna try?"

He looked so appealingly stupid, eyebrow raised, and silly grin; completely out of character for the Edgar she knew, that Star laughed out loud.

.

.

.

The weeks turned into months. The nights grew lighter, the days stretching on even further, as a warm, bustling wind whistled though the grey streets of Luna Bay. It was April, and spring was whispering in the air.

It was on one sweet scented, chilly April evening that Star found Edgar, sitting on the steps of his trailer, face tense in thought, brow furrowed with an unknown gravity. Star, dressed in an old jumper and jeans, moved slowly to the door to observe him quietly. Though trust was growing between them (a good six months had passed since her arrival) she found it hard to connect with him at times, to shift past that brick wall of cockiness and pride and insecurity, built up over the years with a precision that only life could induce. Star hesitated, but decided to live and let live, walking over to sit beside him, two hot cups of coffee steaming in her hands. Edgar shifted over upon her arrival, and accepted her token of companionship with a grateful nod.

Under the night sky they sat together, as small stars began to prick the heavens. There was no artificial light, save the dim glow of Edgar's trailers, so their shine was far clearer and vibrant; breathtaking to behold.

"What bought you here?"

He wouldn't look at her, his stern profile staring straight out into the yard as if searching for invisible vampires, but Star knew what Edgar was asking. What had happened to drive her miles away from Phoenix, to spend years wondering alone, looking over her shoulder the whole time?

Star told him. Her stories were jumbled, confused, and inconsistent; there were vampires, family betraying family, Lucy's fate of a tumour bought on by stress; Michael, restless Michael, vanishing one night. Gone, gone forever, away from her, away from what they had. The terror of each passing minute of darkness; nightmares, whispers, shadows in alleyways, in the acidic brightness of cheap diners, hidden in the grit of industrial cities, breathing in the long grass of rural countryside. Blood that wasn't hers, thrust down her throat with callous abandon; evil and pain and love, living with a false youth, through hunger and anger, killing small animals in order to keep her leaded limbs going, she spends years like it, or is it months? She doesn't know; struggling though an assortment of sleeping bodies, finding that one figure that condemned her to damnation, stake in hand. A bloody salvation. She wishes they'll kill her. They don't.

It hurts her to be a vampire. It hurts her to be human.

Edgar didn't say anything. His eyes possessed a uncanny relation that was burning into the hard throes of her skull. He nodded, listened in complete silence, never once placing comment. Her words hummed softly in the air surrounding them, reverberating in her own ears with an unearthly echo. As Star finished, her regretful gaze fell on the cursed dog tags; a need to question, to share, nagged at her conscious. But then Edgar told his story. Without prompt.

There was no heroics, no comic book inspired glory, no last second recollection of good. Alan had not been killed beside his brother; the relic around Edgar's neck was not a memento of self-sacrificing love, or to a courageous heart slaying evil doers with cries of vengeance for the souls lost to a immortal thirst. No. An overzealous bloodsucker made the man drink, inflicting a fate worse than death for Edgar; horrified at first, Alan sensed the strength, the need, the twisted, growing fire contorting the red cells pulsing within him...

He'd liked it.

It was Star's turn to listen, as a feeling of sickness crept up into her stomach. She recalled the gangly youth with the dark hair, glassy eyes and non-existent opinion, lingering behind Edgar like a loyal shadow.

A master vampire, famous for manipulation, wormed into her vision. His black hair grew wild, knotted yet thick, reaching down his back. Eyes that laughed with barely concealed malice, tinted red.

Edgar's expression was stony.

"He calls to me sometimes," he whispered, voice choked, quaking with bitterness; his coffee cold in his hands. "In my head. I hear him, calling me to join, to once again reunite as brothers...but I can't. I refuse. And still...still he comes..."

A shaking hand was raised to relieve a forehead damp with cold sweat.

Edgar Frog heaved a frustrated sigh, and in a sudden torrent of tension, sent his coffee flying down by his feet. Star froze, watching the trembling Edgar with a horrid empathy.

She didn't know what to do.

.

.

.

.

Star awoke the next day to a coldly bright morning, the golden glow visible beneath the dark of her eyelids. She lay on her small bed, hair tumbled out in a tangled halo. Star caught one singular curl, hocking it around her skinny finger, wetting her dry lips with her tongue, ears peeled to the noises gently wafting their way in though her open window. She could hear the gentle creaking of the large tree outside; could picture the garlic wind chimes knocking each other in the breeze. It forever reminded Star of when she just stumbled upon the so called barren Frog's land. But eventually, her mind wandered straight to more troubling thoughts; the rather raw exchange shared last night.

Wearily, Star rose, pulled on a worn old dressing gown that had once belonged to Edgar's mother (hardly surprising really, it was multi-colour stripes and stank of reefer) and tiptoed softly to the door. Creaking it open, she was greeted with an unusual sight.

Edgar Frog laid face down, head in his arms, asleep on the small table between the two love-seats. His face was turned slightly to the side, expression composed; all tension from the previous evening had eased from his face. His mouth hung open slightly, his nose slightly squashed against the stiff surface. For a passing moment, he didn't look like a mature, jaded hunter; instead, a naive teenager with a liking for comic books and stupid red headbands.

Star paused, contemplating him with an intrigued half smile. A moment passed; silently, she reached forward to touch his shoulder. Her fingers brushed past his neck and pushed his hair from his eyes with an easy gentleness, to avoid waking him.

Something jolted deep within Star.

It was small and growing and so, so strong, pushing upwards within her chest. A hysterical laugh bubbled in her throat; Star fought it back down, covering her pained grin with a trembling hand.

Instantly, she tore her hand away.

She had to do something. Anything, to forget about the man sprawled on the table in front of her.

Half an hour later, a delicious smell filtered its way into Edgar's consciousness; drawing him from the dreg of sleep. He groaned, battering sleep from his tired eyes; there was an uncomfortable creak in his back. The smell drew his gaze to the tiny stove; there, a striking image in multcoloured stripes was Star. She shot him a wide smile, despite a wetness around her eyes, and nodded appreciatively.

"How do you like your eggs?"

In the small sauce pan, were four sizzling golden yolks. For the first time in a long while, Edgar's stomach rumbled.

He didn't attempt a weak smile of his own, but motioned wearily, fighting down the thoughts and dreams that had hunted him to the point of insomnia last night.

"Sunny side up."

.

.

It had been a long time since Edgar Frog had been with company, little alone a long term roommate...or trailer-mate, so to speak. Ever since the turning of Alan and the destruction of his little Frog family, did Edgar retreat from a barren Santa Carla on a windy day in September at the age of twenty one, to inhabit a godforsaken trailer on cheap land in the middle of beautiful, moody Luna Bay. Santa Carla's sister town, though no one would ever make the connection.

Home was home to Edgar, but there were instances where he would miss the lights, the sounds, and the addictive claustrophobia of the coastal town; its adventurous atmosphere, the eerie, sweet dipping trill of the carousal music. At night it used to seep into the old comic book shop, barely muted beneath whatever was playing on the radio; it would tease his ears for a short while, before seeming to float away in the evening air to coax some more passers-by. To Edgar, Santa Carla once stood for youth, freedom, and opportunity. Now, it just reeled his mind with all its bitter memories.

He was never out of work. Luna Bay sported its own batch of vampires, though they lacked any of the mystiques of the blood suckers of his hometown...as if the monsters were any different, if they'd been in New York or Umbria. The vampires here were mostly idiotic, over-compensating fledglings, leaving bloody trails and careless kills, believing wholeheartedly in their apparent immortality. Well, he soon absolved them of that.

His life fell into a mundane routine, or as mundane as one might like when slaughtering the supernatural. Eat, drink, sleep, kill. Shape some surf boards as a cover, do some research into recent dodgy looking deaths, and continue. It wasn't that it bothered Edgar; like the evil bastards he hunted down, he was a born killer; as blood thirsty and ruthless as the lot of them, only working on the opposite side.

He'd spent his whole life defending humanity; he often wondered how he'd forgotten to be human.

Then Star came along.

And everything changed.

She'd arrived at his door, still spookily young but bedraggled, haunted; her large dark eyes mirrored his own with that cruel knowledge they were forced to endure and carry with them. All those who encounter pure evil wielded that look. He recalled her as a teenager; Michael's girlfriend, another damned soul in need of saving; a cause of an adolescent crush, maybe, when she came too close, grinned too flirtatiously, or when her perfume was too strong. But a hazy fantasy became a person; showing up at his home and causing unwanted trips down memory lane.

Edgar took her in. He had interrogated Star, before cleaning her up and offering a roof over her crazy haired head. For a price, of course, and to her credit, the woman delivered. Who knew, the ex-vamp had a good head on her shoulders. Customers liked her, she was quick with numbers and recently taken up board shaping; still a tad clumsy, but improving every day. Star was focused and considerate of his time, his nightly duties, and his space.

But that wasn't everything.

Star's presence, an inconvenience it may have started off as, had eventually become ingrained in Edgar's mind as invaluable. Her hidden, dry humour, that subtle care and concern that flashed in her eyes whenever he left to enter a stake out; her sad, secret smiles. She was easy to talk to, to joke with, and to merely be with. Edgar had a reason now, to return from his darkness and slaying and solitude; he had someone to come back to, to actually share something with. Loneliness is something you accept over time; it becomes a part of you, hardening sections of your heart into stone. But that straggly haired woman, with her awkward sweetness, was building a bond with him; one that consisted of comfortable silences, iron reliance and the occasional teasing conversation.

Edgar didn't know what was building. He wasn't going to wrestle with his thoughts or feelings regarding the matter; he just knew he didn't want to lose it, whatever the hell it was.

.

.

.

.

.

"Staking?"

"Yes, staking."

"Edgar...I don't think..."

"Don't be stupid. Stand here and I'll give you a hands on session."

Star didn't even attempt to joke about the innuendo concerning "hands on sessions." Instead, she ran her fingers though her hair, sighing apprehensively at the dummy set out before her; a crude looking thing with badly drawn fangs supplied by felt tips, little red dots for eyes and a token felt yellow mullet.

Real subtle.

"Nice art skills, vampire hunter."

"You noticed? I've been practising."

"Haha."

All the mirth left Edgar's tone, but his eyes were still bright. He disappeared into the small storage closet to retrieve a "practice stake" with an almost childish enthusiasm, as if he hadn't had the chance to do this for a long time. Star chewed her lips, mulling over the purpose of such lessons, eyes tightly drawn on the David dummy lying before her. It had such innocent eyes.

.

.

.

Apparently she was doing it wrong. Surprise surprise.

Edgar was circling her with the subtlety of a starving vulture. No, she was holding it wrong. The aim was incorrect; the heart was a little to the left. May sure you bend the tip forward, idiot! A vamp is not going to have the curtsey to allow you leisure time to establish the exact coordinates of their greatest weakness, are they?

It was Star's turn to growl under her breath.

"I'm trying," she mumbled, kneading the badly stuffed doll with the catching end of the stake. Star was distinctly under the impression that Edgar Frog; unmovable, stick-in-the-mud Mr Frog there, was secretly enjoying her plight.

"Look, look, this is serious..." Kneeling down beside her, Edgar grinned and looked over her shoulder to critic her errors. "Come here, this is how you stake a damn vampire, geez..."

Two strong, calloused hands closed over her grip.

Star's breath hitched.

Edgar's did too, just ever so slightly, as she could feel the intake of his chest move against her back, could sense the indulgent, rare smile fading from his face.

Something crackled in the air.

The hands were pulled away. The holder of them stumbled to his feet.

"I'll let you keep practising," came the usual monotone behind her, only there was a certain weight pulling at its edges; a huskiness, perhaps? But the tone was awkward, so Star kept eye contact removed his face; she wouldn't...no, couldn't turn to look at him. Even the sharp snap of the trailer door failed to make her wince; the broad boots on the gravel fading in the distance didn't even illicit a response.

Star looked down at the stake held tight within her hand.

She kicked the alert dummy away. It no longer amused her.

Time shifted onward. The light wetness of April soon transfigured into the glowing, open warmth of June; the air was hotter, the tourist trade picking up and breathing new life unto the dead, pale streets of Luna Bay. Surfers flocked from the outskirts of San Francisco to take part in the thriving mosaic of the surfer community, and frankly for Star and Edgar, surfboard shaping was in high demand. The little shop had never been busier, the money was pouring in, and Star was rushed off her feet.

Strangely, she didn't long for this heat and crowd and normalcy that now rained down unto her head in crazy bursts each day; but of the solitary, sweetly chilled nights she had spent with Edgar with hot coffee and Chinese; those dim, drifting, brightly icy days of winter that emulated her very self. She wished for the calming soothe of the world that had lingered with her upon her first few months with the man; it was if the heat made the oxygen prickling and irritating, the vampires extra hungry. (Edgar was just as busy with that aspect as well.)

But there was something wrong with the air. It was charged, tense, crackling with high voltage. It heaved and throbbed between the two of them; Edgar's famous glares no longer dominated the religious pages of researching comic books, but of the colourful folds of her skirt swaying and dotting around the cramped trailer as she attempted tiny task after tiny task. She wondered if he knew that she was aware of this, of him. His stare, penetrating at best, was inescapable, tinged with a hard reproach that was sunken into the deepening lines circulating his accusing eyes; as if condemning her for some crime she was committing unknowingly.

As time shifted, so did something else, and Star found herself begging for the soothing cool of January and the starry, dark, musky nights of April, in which to hide herself..

.

.

.

It was a night in late June. Star had been working late, a mega no-no when Edgar was concerned; first-hand experience had taught the both of them that travelling at night, unless in extreme emergencies, was a concrete danger-zone. However, it was a busy season, and the little shop had been forced to remain open due to some amateur surfing contest. She had considered a motel, but a sudden desire...no, an overwhelming gut dread had seized Star for no unexplainable reason that evening, so she hurried back to the tiny trailer.

Star hated her gut feelings. Strangely enough, they were rarely wrong.

The small area was in uproar. Blood was splattered against the windows; alongside other fluids that stank. Plants had been uprooted, signs smashed and garlic crunched into the gravel; even the battered old motor had been overturned onto its side. This was a planned attack, which had left their home reeking of death, and a heavy decay of lingering vampires.

Star wasn't panicked by the carnage surrounding her; no, not the mess or senseless destruction, but by the factor that Edgar Frog was nowhere to be seen. Her heart was clattering the bones of her ribcage; there was a horrible lump gagging her throat.Stinging, biting tears nipped at her eyeballs; she wanted to scream his name, but her tongue was numb, a dead weight in her mouth.

Star picked her way through pinpricks of shattered glass, jagged fragments reflecting the blackened, empty skies. Lifting her skirt, she stumbled over contorted metal; something caught her ankle, splitting the skin; a trickle of blood slithered from the fresh cut, hot and burning against her skin. Star's hand grasped the uncouth wood of the stake hidden in her belt; she wanted to feel fear, but she felt nothingn.

_Please be alive._

A sudden battle cry shredded the suffocating silence; it was followed by a deafening, horrific roar blasting from the trees behind the ruined trailer. The first yell had been Edgar's.

Hope, relief, despair, joy, anger, love, and terror gushed into Star all at once.

She ran.

.

.

.

.

Edgar dispatched another bloodsucker with frightening ease; a cross broke the chest cavity of the creature, caving in like a doomed mine shaft. The creature gave one last devilish squeal of protest, talons extending, teeth wrenching themselves even further out of rotting gums; before shrivelling like burnt bacon, curling and hissing and smoking, until there was nothing left but fine dust scattering in the wind.

Edgar froze. An unnatural quiet had descended. His hand reached for the newest valet of holy water.

A howling mass of nightmarish fangs, claws, and screaming blood eyes burst from the tree above; it hurtled towards Edgar, arms outstretched to rip him from the ground. He was unprepared.

"SH-..."

Barely five centimetres from his face, had the demon become still. An almost tragic confusion fleeted, ever so slightly, over the ancient face. Every feature grimaced…then melted into dust, foul spores evaporating into the air. Edgar's astounded eyes travelled beyond the cloud, before they met the vision of a panting Star, with all her odd bangles, messy hair, sparkly skirt, white top, everything...only with the addition of a used stake in her hand and the mad concern, illuminating her face.

For a brief moment, they just stared at each other. A traumatised wood pigeon weakly cooed overhead.

Star didn't feel herself move. She wasn't sure if she even did; maybe she floated, maybe she flew. Maybe she had become a vampire again, blessed with hellish swiftness. But she was suddenly there, arms wrapped strongly around Edgar's neck, face buried in the crook of his shoulder. He smelt of sweat, of blood and heat, and all the fluids that had been gathered on his person were now emitting themselves onto her hair, her clothes, her skin. But Star didn't care; how could she, when Edgar was here, safe and alive and well, albeit messy and unkempt...but Edgar. Edgar was here.

Edgar felt the press, the warmth of body melding into his; it was intoxicating, strange, like the taste of a new, addictive drug. His heartbeat was still racing, not, now he knew, merely from the thrill of a long awaited fight. But Star. Star...

His arms hung uselessly by his sides. He lifted them to push her away, but they seemed to settle of their own accord on her bare shoulders; he found himself returning the embrace, quick and awkward, with a one armed hug. It was rare; it was crazy, it was _happening_.

Coughing, he broke it, gently separating them; knowing the glazed look in Star's eyes was a mirror of his own. His voice was gruff, but gentle.

"Come on. We need to get cleaned up."

.

.

.

.

"It was your brother, wasn’t it?”

Edgar sat away from her, gaze drawn on the wreckage through the window.A steaming cup of coffee was warming their hands. The inside of the trailer had remained untouched; a thankful mercy bestowed by their attackers. Star had changed from her bloodstained garments into a loose top, and that old, blue skirt owned by Lucy. Her gaze, heavy with understanding, rested on Edgar, still dressed in his half ruined battle gear and iconic red headband.

When he was a child, he'd looked amusing, funny, out of sorts, in that washed up old marine wannabe clothes. But now, with a world weary maturity and hardened wisdom dominating his features; lips forced into a tight frown line, eyes paralysed with painful experience, the few lines he was now gaining etched on his face with a deepness that only cruelty could fulfill; told another story. Edgar was now in literal terms, a tragic hero; the very being he had worshipped as a teenager, now emulated completely in everything Edgar was and everything he stood for. All the silliness was gone, replaced by forlornness.

The price of justice was loneliness. The price of saving human life was being hunted and tormented yourself. Star knew this. It was what drove her to the door of this hunter; the only hope she had left. Her only friend in the world.

A pang ripped through her.

In reality, he was all she had left.

The attack had been sent by his brother in an attempt to capture, not kill him. The implications of this sounded in her mind as Star watched Edgar move, taking the stakes to the sink with militancy that implied a dull routine. He hadn't answered her query, nor was he planning to confide in her. His silence hurt Star, in more ways than one.

She thought about Michael. Curly haired, sweet, smiling Michael; his scent, his quirks, his grin. In a non-direct way, this all was completely her fault. If Star hadn't led Michael to David, Michael would never have become a vampire. Sam would never have contacted the Frog Brothers, the Lost Boys would still be alive, and Alan still human and Edgar not alone. Maybe with a wife and kids, writing his own comics and laughing with his brother about the stupid games of their teen-hood.

That would have never happened. Merely by the monster inside of her at the time, Star could not have denied herself Michael. She was selfish and wanted him, at the cost of so much. And hell! Didn't she regret it! Oh how god, she regretted it, and would have torn the flesh of a thousand necks then caused all this pain, all this shattering of everything that the Emersons and Frogs held dear.

All the pain that Edgar now held...

"Star, you're bleeding."

His hoarse voice broke her thoughts. Edgar had turned away from the sink, and focused on her ankle.. Star blinked and peered down; it was nothing but a tiny gash, but blood was pumping steadily out of it.

Here was Edgar, cut and bruised and bleeding, fretting about a tiny scrape. Seriously...

Before she knew it, rough hands seized her shoulders and plopped her down on the loveseat; Edgar knelt by the wound, squinting at it, cold fingertips grazing the skin in order to turn the ankle to the light. It was Star's turn to wince as a stinging spirit was applied to the affected cut. Edgar's head twitched ever so lightly at her intake of breath, as if reminded of a current event. He proceeded to gently wrap a small bandage around the wound, slowly and carefully, as if not wanting to lose contact with her skin.

"I was impressed."

His voice was quiet, but mild with a beguilement that hadn't been there before. Star, knowing what he was referencing, found a hotness teasing her cheeks. However, it made her revisit that moment before she thoughtlessly killed the beastly thing; there had been a raw panic, a biting, flaring sorrow, and a fear. A fear of being alone once again.

Star couldn't help herself.

"I thought you were going to die."

Edgar instantly stiffened, straightening up so that they were eye level. His expression was one of blunt impassivity, but there was an odd fire dancing in his eyes.

"It's nothing I've never handled before," he said harshly, crossing his arms as if in a challenge. "That's not the first time Alan has sent his stooges on me, and..." the inflection in his voice grew heavier. "Or the last. So, don't worry about me, okay?" He made a motion to stand, but Star's hand flew out, gripping his jacket.

He froze.

"I do, though," she whispered, feeling the air begin to throb around her. Like the melody of blood that she had forgotten, it pounded and reverberated and repeated in her ears, swirling and hightailing like the manic trill of crazy carousel music. Edgar didn't move from her touch, but didn't move into it ether. He just stared. Waiting.

"Alan may come back. If he does, I don't want you here."

"Why?" Indignation. She knew Edgar hated that.

"It's for your own...safety."

He uttered the last word with a hesitant, testing affection, as if tasting it in his mouth. Star tenderly sighed.

"No matter where I go, Edgar, I'm never going to be truly safe. Here, at the shop, in Phoenix, in Santa Carla, even with you. I just know I feel safest here, though I'm hardly any more secure then I was anywhere else. So, no..."

She paused for effect, still smiling, still observing Edgar's confused face.

"I'm not going anywhere."

_Not from you._

Anger, confusion, restraint prickled his expression. He turned to pull away, the dog tails knocking her hand; cold and unfeeling.

"You don't understand."

Star screamed in her head that she did.

Star pulled the bloodstained jacket towards her, and pressed her lips to his.

It was dry, awkward, rushed; Edgar was unresponsive against her mouth, but she kissed him again, again, again, not giving up.

A dam broke loose. Edgar suddenly cracked, leaning into her embrace with a sudden passion that knocked her backwards. His kisses were were harsh and real and beautifully human, as he half lifted her up, pushing her against the white, plastic table. Star scrambled to keep up, kicking away bandages and spirit and medical supplies as she did so. A bottle of stinging stuffs smashed to the floor, but Edgar's lips had directed themselves to the soft skin of her neck, barely taking notice. She felt teeth. Human teeth, nipping, pinching, assaulting. Star grasped the back of his hair, burrowing her head into his shoulder, tears blurring her eyes. She bit the tip of his ear fiercely, causing him to swear under his breath.

Calloused hands were pushing her skirt up to her thighs. Star, not willing to be the passive one here, tugged at his shirt, effectively ripping it off in vigour. She was once again greeted with the wiry arms, the flat midriff, the pale crisscross of scars lining themselves up across the tough skin, and that strange tattoo entwining itself toward his neck. She lifted one hand; Edgar had become still, staring at her, eyes unreadable. Star traced the scars with a light finger, drawing the tattoo with the corner of her thumb; he shuddered slightly, and she smiled.

Star placed a small kiss against his chest, upon the area where his heart beat; the blood vibrated and wound its way across his veins, full and human and alive. Her fingers stroked down until they fumbled the button on his jeans, but a large hand closed over hers. Star raised her eyes, shocked, to see Edgar shaking his head. The look in his eyes was tender, but terribly, terribly sad.

The flame inside her began to ebb. The high that had geared her since the staking of the creature drained itself from Star, leaving her eyes wide and befuddled.

"Edgar...?"

He laid her down, continuing to push her skirt up; his finger hooked themselves around the tip of her underwear, making her whimper. Star resumed undressing him as he undressed her, fumbling hands discovered the right touches, as they made love in silence.

Edgar pressed himself into her, baring his teeth at the effort; Star wound her legs around his waist, locking him into their embrace. She arched as he began to thrust, whispering encouragement in his ear, kissing his mouth, clawing his back, as the heat between them increased, the pacing of the thrusts becoming more regular, more desperate. As they hit climax, neither made a sound.

.

.

.

It had been more carnal then Michael, that was for sure.

The two forms lay entwined on the bed. Edgar's arm was around Star's waist, the length of his body molded into hers. They both lay in silence. Outside, the sun began to peek from beyond the horizon, bloody and large and beautiful, setting the clouds and landscape and sea on fire. Luna Bay was raised once more to life in the sleepy, boozy morning. Star closed her eyes and thought of Luna Bay, in its moody, cloudy brilliance. Santa Carla sang in the halls of her memory, spinning and adventurous and gorgeous, sparkling and shining like a cursed opal, with its monstrous, seedy majesty. It flashed once more in the gloomy recesses of her brain, before whittling away to the golden sun beneath her eyelids. When had the definition of "home" become so complex? But now, lying here with the slumbering Edgar behind her, she realised the solution was all too simple.

The weight shifted behind her. Beating down a stroke of panic, Star shot her head around to blink at Edgar. He moved to the window, daylight illuminating his face that no longer looked haunted or pained; just brisk and ready for another day.

He turned to her, crooked grin in place, but his stance business like, voice gruff.

"Come on. We need to get cleaned up, Star."

Outside, the rising sun bathed the ruined courtyard in a golden glow.

Inside the trailer, voices began to raise and converse.

 


End file.
